Consequences
by Vanja86
Summary: The story depicts the consequences of the alien attack for the magical community and the work of a super-special group of witches and wizards that were called to save the day.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC (if there will be any)**

Cold drizzle fell endlessly, seeping through woolen coats, scarves and winter caps leaving unlucky passersby in drenched attires. _Snap_. Hermione abruptly turned her head right following the cracking sound of an unnaturally bended umbrella. Protruding wires and torn polyester fabric clearly suggested its days were over. _And that's how you spot tourists in London, ladies and gentleman, _pitiably announced Hermione in her head while tightly clutching her upright collar, in vain attempt to stave off chill.

Armed with a cup of hot black coffee, Hermione hurriedly braved the seedy parts of London in attempt to reach The Ministry of Magic. Although she was an educated, N.E.W.T. certified witch she had to enter through visitors' telephone booth as it was apparently nigh impossible to find a flat with a reasonable price and a fireplace in muggle's side of town. _Well, at least this way I can save a buck load of money, _internally snorted Hermione. Most wizards and witches didn't realize that the galleon-pound exchange rate allowed to quadruple ones income as long as most spending happened in British currency. Hermione truly didn't mind. Food was superb, location passable and the route to work extremely annoying but the privacy and anonymity she gained were priceless.

Her musings came to an abrupt halt as she came face to face with her destination. She cautiously opened the booth and slipped inside hoping against all odds that she touched as little as possible. Most of the times wizards try at authenticity but grossly miss the mark. Unfortunately for the visitors to The Ministry the telephone stall not only looked the part but also smelled it! It was dirty, probably full of germs and it stank like a public latrine. The kind that you enter and immediately start to wonder if someone deliberately pissed at all the floors, sinks and walls. _Yuck. One of these days, I am going to clean it…somehow… the scouring charm doesn't take but maybe a variation…with a rune circle… hmm… _debated Hermione as she gingerly dialed 6-2-4-4-2.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.", a cool female voice declared so clearly that it seemed like she was standing right next to you. Albeit if it was truth she had to be an invisible pixie or a small fairy.

"Hermione Granger, The Department of Mysteries, here to check in –

"Thank you."

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and lowered slowly into the ground. Unimpressed Hermione observed as oblivious muggles passed, thoroughly ignoring the sinking booth.

After about a minute in absolute darkness, a stray ray of light leaked from the chink and illuminated Hermione's feet which were already tramping impatiently. _Tap, tap, tap._ The sphere widened quickly, momentarily blinding her and she had to blink to stop her eyes from watering.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

"Night", corrected Hermione right before she shoot out of the booth and tried inconspicuously bypass the security stand but a cheerful voice rooted her to the spot.

"Tsk… Ms. Granger. You _should_ know better" a man spoke, his voice filled with mirth, as he was opening an enormous ledger "Please, sign here….", he indicated the space"… hmm and here…."

"Erm…. _Right_. Mr. Munch I just need to find my quill" sighted Hermione as she was rummaging through her reliable beaded handbag. Couple of books, parchments, cosmetics, potions, _and for the love of_ _Merlin_, pajamas later, she victoriously held an eluding writing paraphernalia. Clutching the coffee and her many possessions in one hand, she started clumsily to sign with the other.

"An interesting cup, you have there. I don't think I have seen that before. Is it a novelty from French wizard market?"

"Not at all. It's a thermal cup", seeing a certain lack of understanding on his face, she elaborated. "It's a type of mug which is very popular among the muggles because it keeps contents warm for the long period of time".

"Wouldn't it be easier to use a heating charm?"

"Yes, but this way I don't rise suspicion on the streets.", she explained as she was going steadily towards the elevators.

After a moment a murmur chased her "You are an odd witch" _Odd, odd, odd._

Of course she was _odd_. She was a collection of contradictions. Muggle-born and yet indisputably the brightest witch of the generation. National hero that went to great pains to avoid attention. Witch but living in muggle's London. Resourceful and talented caster who relied on human inventions. An Unspeakable that comes to work at random hours. _Perhaps, the last one is common, _she corrected after she passed some co-workers in the corridor.


End file.
